


A Long Time Alone

by Kairyn



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Loneliness, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 22:17:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20033242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kairyn/pseuds/Kairyn
Summary: Caduceus has been alone a long time. It can do things to you.





	A Long Time Alone

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't too dark or crazy. Just sort of an exploration of what someone being on their own for... like a decade I think is what Clay said? Might look like. Tried to keep it pretty canon but I think a few things might be a little muddied.

The house was too big.

That was a bizarre thought because before he'd always considered it almost painfully small. Then again, a family of ten in one house designed for a family less than half that size, it probably made sense that growing up he had thought the hut was cramped. He'd always been knocking elbows with others and getting his ears flicked and feet stamped on and other such displays of sibling exasperation.

But now it wasn't like that. The house, which had never been quiet, was almost unsettlingly silent now. He stood there in the main living area of the house and wasn't sure what to do. Normally someone was calling for someone else or complaining or just generally making a ruckus. It had been quieter and quieter as the seasons went on, but it had never been this bad before. He would prefer some noise. He could make some. Although he wasn't usually the one being noisy.

What noise would be appropriate? Hmm. He wasn't sure. Maybe not noise after all, even though it would be comfortingly familiar.

So, not that. But he should still do something. Yes. Definitely. Keeping himself occupied was a good thing. So, again, what should he do? Breakfast probably. Yeah. That was a good first step. Breakfast was always where you should start.

He made too much food and got out too many cups for tea. That would take some getting used to.

He stared down at the teal cup in his hand and traced the dark blue curling lines across the smooth surface. This cup had come all the way from the Menagerie Coast -or so he'd been told- and the swirls were almost perfect little symbols of the Wildmother. He didn't think that they were supposed to be that (more likely they were just random lines that someone had done to add interest and they hadn't even been thinking about the Wildmother), but the similarity was undoubtedly nice.

He put the extra cup into the ancient tea cabinet that sat with pride against the main wall of the house. The top shelf was where all the cups went and he carefully arranged the dish he'd pulled out by mistake in line with the yellow flower pattern, solid green, red with a pink rim, purple with a green vine, white with blue stripes, white with green stripes, and the blue with purple swirl cups. He reached in and shifted the newest cup to the side just enough that it wouldn't be shoved into the back by accident. The dishes weren't evenly spaced, so he ended up adjusting them all until he was pretty sure that they were all about equal.

With the tea cabinet in order, he put away the extra food he'd made to eat himself later and made his way outside. Things still needed to be done, and the graves wouldn't maintain themselves. There was plenty to do to keep himself busy.

At least outside felt normal. Well, relatively so. He could still see and sense that corruption that was trying to seep in, but that had been happening so long now he was almost used to it (Not really, he didn't think he'd ever be used to it entirely, but it didn't startle him anymore or cause him as much anxiety as it used to).

As he went through the graves, making sure that they were all maintained and the plants growing upon them were healthy, he came across an odd little stone. It was surprisingly shiny for a rock, almost more like a piece of glass. "Well, you're a bit strange," he said. "But pretty." Maybe some sort of quartz? He had never been very good at guessing at what things were unless they were something that grew in the Grove already. He was much better at people.

He picked up the rock and brushed the dirt off of it with his thumb. Now that it was out of the soil, it seemed a bit more natural. The underside looked more like the stones that came from the quarry that they then made markers out of. He carried the rock into the house and was halfway through his first sentence to show it when he remembered that there was nobody else there.

He stood in the house in silence for several minutes. "Well that's... hmm," he murmured. He sucked on his teeth and tried to get this new sensation of being alone to register. He'd never been alone before. All his life he had siblings and parents and now there was nobody.

He rubbed his thumb across the surface of the rock he'd found and looked at the tea cabinet with all of its colorful teacups again. Well. They would be back. He could show whoever got back first his interesting little rock. Yes. Simple. He nodded, content with that choice, and went over to the room he had shared with three of his siblings but now had all to himself. He put the rock on the top of the small chest of drawers shoved into the corner of the room. He wouldn't forget about it there he didn't think.

The days seemed to go by slowly, filled with gardening and trying to use his divinely gifted powers to hold back the corruption as much as he could. Despite how slow each day was and how monotonous it became, he kept to his routine and kept an eye out for any sign of the corruption fading or any of his siblings returning.

He kept finding little oddities. Other interesting rocks, a snail shell of a strange color, an occasional earring someone must have dropped when they were visiting a grave. He had always been good at finding little things like that, but he usually didn't keep them. He would just show them to someone -whoever he thought would like it the most- and then put them back if nobody wanted it, but he couldn't do that if nobody was there.

Before he knew it, several seasons had passed with no sign of any improvement to the Grove. Reluctantly, he abandoned the outermost graves and spent about half the next season building a new wall to try and hold back the disease from the rest of the cemetery. He didn't honestly think it would work. It hadn't before. But he was at a loss for what else he could even try. The gifts he got from the Wildmother didn't seem to be helping slow it very much. But then... he had always used those gifts on bodies and not plants. Perhaps he was doing something wrong. The others would know.

The silence in the house was becoming more oppressive. Especially at night. Clarabelle had talked in her sleep and Caius had moved around frequently to add a rustling noise. Not to mention the snores he was used to hearing. Sometimes he could lay there for hours in the silence not able to sleep.

At least during the day, he could go outside and hear all the sounds of nature. It wasn't the same. Not by any means. But it helped.

"It's taking longer than I thought it would," he said to nobody as he dusted the teacups in the cabinet. He wasn't sure when he'd started talking to nobody, but the illusion of conversation was nice to have. One or more of his siblings would probably tease him for it later.

"I have to get better at those games, so I don't end up being the last one again." Of course, maybe that wasn't fair because he knew for a fact that several of his siblings had cheated when they'd played. Not all of them had, but between those that cheated and his own rotten luck or being physically weaker, he'd lost the deciding arguments. It still grated to have his siblings cheat, however. And he still wasn't sure _why_ they'd done it since none of them had really wanted to leave their home either.

"Why were we even fighting about that again?" he wondered aloud. Something about who was most likely to die if they left the Grove if he remembered right. Maybe he wasn't though. It had been a while since he'd seen any of them. But it did sound like something the others would do.

He put the freshly dusted teacups back in line and closed the cabinet. The house still felt far too silent as he moved around it by himself. Even the sound of water bubbling for tea almost seemed muted. "I wonder how long it's been," he said as he got out the tea leaves. Many seasons. He knew at least that much, but he thought he may have lost track once or twice.

He sipped at some lovely tea from the Trevall family out on the East side. They always made particularly soothing chamomile teas with just a hint of Earthiness in the background. "It's getting cold again," he said as he went to the window to look out at the sky. His leg was aching so some sort of storm was heading his way. Probably snow since he had added another blanket to his bed to fight against the frost about a week or so ago and was already thinking about adding another. It was cold at night without anyone to curl up with. They had always done that as children. Since the house was ancient and drafty pushing all the beds together and curling up in one pile was a comforting and effective solution to the cold.

Two days later, the snow came and coated all the plants and graves in about an inch deep layer of pure white. It made the world even quieter, and the cold almost seemed to help the corruption spread. He'd noticed that a little earlier in the season, but he hadn't been sure if it was his imagination or something more telling. He wasn't as good with knowing what ailed plants as Camille was. He had always been better at the dead things part. If he'd noticed this badness in the plants before the others left he would have mentioned it. But he'd only realized it this past winter when the corruption was so close he could see it without straining much. The more he looked at it now, the more he was certain it wasn't his imagination.

He was worried he was going to have to move the wall back yet again. He didn't think he could really do that, though. There would be so much less good ground left in the cemetery if the boundary was pushed back another ten feet or however far it ended up being.

Days continued to tick by. The only visitors he got were those that came to bury people and considering the dangers of the forest not as many families were coming as he remembered once did. He wondered if they had set up another closer cemetery somewhere that he didn't know about. He wouldn't have thought so (not too many towns needed two), but he could go months and months it felt like without another person coming by, and he was sure people died sooner than that. The front gates were so tangled from lack of people going through them that even he was about to give up on them entirely. He would cut the vines back, and it would feel like the very next day the plants had regrown.

Another handful of seasons passed and he had to admit that he had to move the wall again. "This is not good. Not good at all. I don't like this," he said to the open air as he carefully placed some rocks where they would be the base of the new wall. It had taken him almost a full season to drag enough stones from the forest and a nearby river to get enough to make a decent-sized wall from them. Construction wasn't his strong suit, but he was pretty sure that the wall would last a little while.

His Mother's enchantments that were trying to protect the graveyard were still there at least. Between those and the wall, the garden closest to the house was still lush and beautiful. The others should be back soon. He was pretty sure. They liked to leave him behind because he could sometimes get a little distracted and forgetful, but they always sent someone back after him after a while. It would probably be Clarabelle. She was weird but liked to wander off by herself, so it would make sense to send her back with news first. No doubt she'd tell some bizarre stories that made no sense to him. But he sort of missed those so that'd be alright.

He brewed some sharp black tea from the Dal'an family and watched the clouds drift past. He did wonder where the others were, but then who knew how big the world was? It could take a while to find out what was going wrong and fix it.

The top of the chest of drawers was filled with little bits and bobs that he had yet to show anybody since there was nobody to show. He marked off another little line on the scattering of paper hanging beside the drawers on the wall. He hadn't bothered to count all the marks -there were a lot, and he didn't want to confuse himself- but he was going to need another sheet soon. He had probably missed a few marks, but that was alright. It was just a loose estimate anyway. He wasn't even sure when he'd started doing it. He just had.

He hung up another sheet of paper so that he had room for more tallies.

A bandit came by and tried to rob the graves, apparently thinking because of the state of the outer ring the place was abandoned. He corrected that misconception quickly, and a season or so later he discovered that the bandit made a surprisingly sweet tea with an almost fruity undertone. "Hmm, you seemed more bitter when we spoke," he said as he clipped a few more leaves off the plants to dry for later. "I guess some people only show their real selves through their tea. Good thing to remember."

"Of course, if you hadn't been so rude and persistent we'd never have known this about you," he said as he brushed some dirt off the mostly plain stone. All that he'd had to carve on it was the one date, after all. "My sister would have said you were rather reckless attacking a place you don't know anything about. But it's alright. We all make mistakes."

There was no response, of course, but he'd gotten very used to that. It had been so long since he'd heard any voice but his own that he just assumed he wouldn't hear answers. "I do wish I had thought to ask your name. It seems a little rude to not know it after all this. Sorry about that."

"Although," he paused and looked up at the sky thoughtfully. "You didn't seem to want to talk really at all. Hmm. Well, I still probably should have asked." He shrugged a little and went back to his work. "Oh. I guess I never gave you my name either. Sorry that was rude. It's Clay. Well, Mr. Clay. My family has been protecting and tending the Blooming Grove for centuries. You see, a long time ago, back when the Raven Queen had just ascended..."

He had no idea if the bandit cared about the history of his family and the Blooming Grove -probably not if he were honest with himself- but he figured the man should know what he was now a part of. Seemed only fair. Plus, he just sort of enjoyed talking about it. And hearing someone speaking -even if it was just himself- was nice.

He tried again to use some of the divine power the Wildmother granted him to hold back the corruption, and it was as ineffective as it had ever been. "Well, things usually get worse before they get better," he reminded himself as he dusted off the teacups. They kept getting dusty in the cabinet, and it was really quite frustrating. "So, I suppose it makes sense that even though we're trying to fix things, it might take some time. I wonder if any of the others have gotten together or not. That would be nice."

It was incredibly startling to realize how many seasons had passed since he'd last seen his siblings. He knew it had been a long time, that was very clear from the things that had changed. His hair had gone from short to long (aside from the parts he deliberately kept shaved close) and he'd had to move the wall twice because of the spread of the corruption. He hadn't thought he'd needed to since it wasn't supposed to take very long. But looking at the many pages of tally marks it was clear that a lot of time had actually gone by.

His collection of oddities he'd found that he still had yet to show to anyone had expanded from just on top of the dresser to all around the room. The sheets of paper marking the time had started to round the corner onto another wall. He was glad he had thought to put them on paper though. His Mother would be _very_ cross if he had put those into the wall itself.

Maybe the others were on their way back. At the very least they should be to give him some sort of an update. It had been a while. He fiddled with his earring as he waited for the tea from the Silas family brew. If he knew where the other shrines were, he would send a message or something to see if the others were coming back soon. "But then I don't have anyone to send a message with either," he realized after a few minutes.

_Maybe they forgot you were here_, nobody responded.

"I don't think they forgot," he said back. "They're better at remembering things than I am."

_But it's been a very long time_.

"Yes, but the shrines might be very far away," he reasoned. "I'm sure everything's fine."

The voice that wasn't really there pointed out his tea was ready. "Ah. Wonderful," he said as he got up from his chair to go pour it into his single teacup.

At some point, -he wasn't really sure when- bags appeared at the foot of his bed. "When did I do that?" he wondered aloud. He shrugged and added another tally to the walls of the room. He was sure there was a good reason he'd packed so many of his things.

The bags sat there packed for a long time, and he didn't bother moving them. He added more little interesting things to his collection and tried to hold back the corruption with divine power that wasn't really meant for such things. He was mostly used to the silence now although he still wasn't terribly fond of it. He hadn't seen even a mourner since... well, since a very long time. Ten seasons or so was the last ones he thinks. Give or take. There was a town nearby wasn't there? He was definitely sure there had been a town. A weird town, but unless he'd imagined it, it had been full of people.

The garden was getting a little more unruly. He should probably pull the vines away from the house at least, the nonexistent voice commented. He didn't bother. "The plants aren't harming anything," he said as he carved a few letters into the stone of a marker so that they were more easily visible. "Besides, they can't go out because of the corruption, so they have to grow somewhere."

_The corruption is still coming_.

"We'll find a solution."

_You're not finding anything sitting here at home._

He frowned and brushed some moss away from the top of the headstone. "Well, I can't just leave. Someone has to protect the Grove. And try to keep the corruption at bay."

_Yes, because you're doing such a good job at that_, the voice said with a slightly unpleasant tone he didn't like.

"You sound like Caius," he said.

_You're the one talking to yourself so **you** sound like Caius_, the voice shot back.

He frowned even more. Was that right? He wasn't sure that was entirely how things worked. But then, he wasn't the smartest, so maybe he was wrong about that.

Another sheet of paper went up onto the wall to keep the tally marks going. It was looking a little silly with all the pages on the walls, but at the very least when the breeze came in at night and rustled them, it was kind of a nice sound. He didn't know why he was even vaguely keeping track honestly. It didn't make him feel good at all to see all the marks, and he never counted them up or anything like that. It made his chest ache when he saw all the lines, but he couldn't seem to stop himself from marking the days down anyway. Maybe he would need to know at some point?

The teacups were so dusty again, and he could see the spots they sat when he picked them up to clean. Someone came by to ask if he knew how to cure something and he gave them a tea that probably would help, but then they were running off again before he'd even gotten their name. He was glad that he could help, but it would have been nice if they'd at least had tea with him.

The corrupted plants were starting to crawl over the nearest wall, and nothing he tried was stopping it. And he did try. He even tried brute strength, which was _not_ his strong suit. He cut up his palm on the nasty thorns but a little Cure Wounds, and he was fine.

He prayed to the Wildmother. There had to be something that he could do. He just couldn't figure out what that might be.

One night, the breeze brushing over him in bed was surprisingly warm even though his leg was telling him there was snow on the horizon. A comforting voice whispered to him. The first voice he'd heard aside from his own and the one that wasn't really there in a very long time. At least four sheets of paper worth of time.

Someone was coming. And he was supposed to go with them.

He woke up the next morning and made another tally mark on the papers all over his walls. He wondered how close these people were. He spent time gathering different teas and spices that he might need. The armor his sister had made him needed a few new straps, so he replaced them. He'd been putting it off since he hadn't seen anything very dangerous in a long time. Most forest beasts stayed away from here, and really the sweet bandit was the only person who had come here with overtly ill intent that he could remember.

But someone was coming, he knew that in his very bones.

The day passed without anyone showing up, but he wasn't bothered. He was used to waiting by this point.

The next morning he put yet another mark on the wall. He eyed the sheets and sheets of paper full of ticks that he hadn't bothered to keep terribly uniformed in size or even orientation. He wondered if he should maybe take those off the wall or something like that.

Well, there was no telling if whoever was coming would even be there that day. It would be sort of pointless to take it all down if he wasn't finished putting marks up. He should probably get rid of anything that wouldn't last for a very long time. He'd eaten some the night before, but there was still a little that wouldn't last.

As he was cleaning up from breakfast, he thought he saw movement out by the furthest wall. Oh good. He should make a fresh batch of tea for his guests. He hadn't had visitors in so long, after all. He went to the cabinet and studied the teacups there. He ignored the line of seven cups as those were not for guests and picked up the three that were on a lower shelf. It had initially been a set of six cups, but children tended to break things, and half of them had met the floor at various points throughout the years.

He got out the mugs and his tea kettle, but before he could even start, he heard whoever it was much closer to the house. Huh. They had gotten there faster than he'd assumed they would. Well, best to go introduce himself.

He stepped out and was a little surprised at how _many_ people it was. He had not been expecting more than one or two someones. And he hadn't been expecting such a wide range of someones. "... huh. I think I only have three more cups. Hold on," he told them before going back in to get the other cups. He would have to just make do.

He looked around for a moment and considered how small the house was and how many people there were outside. Alone the house was too big but for more than say, four people, he was reminded how small it was. Maybe outside would be more comfortable. He brought out the kettle and started the water to heating before going to find something particularly nice and fresh to make his visitors tea.

The little green one seemed nice. Even asked if he needed help. Though she appeared confused even while asking.

It actually took him a moment to remember his first name, so he settled for just Mr. Clay at first. It had just been so long since he'd had anyone call him by name. But then it popped back into his head thankfully before he'd even finished making the tea.

There was even a firbolg with this group, which was surprising to see, but very lovely. She gave very good hugs, and Caduceus considered himself something of an expert in that area, so he knew what he was talking about. There was a very nice chat that happened, and even though they asked a lot of strange questions, it was so nice to just have some people to talk to and share tea with. It had been a very long time since Caduceus had anyone but himself, plants, or dead people to talk to.

Caduceus went to get his things after agreeing to go with these people. They were telling him about horrible things going on after all, and there was something about babies being eaten (which he had no idea what that was about but horrifying even as something to say) so he was perfectly happy to help them. And if, that also helped him get past the dangers of the woods to hopefully find something to help the Grove, well that would be even better.

As he pulled on his breastplate, he looked to the side where his tally marks were covering the wall. He had said he would wait... but the Wildmother had set him on a new path. He was sure of that. Plus... he really didn't want to be alone anymore if he didn't have to be. They were a strange group, but he felt he could help them. It had been a long time since he'd helped anyone. He hadn't heard that voice that didn't exist all day either...

Caduceus picked up his staff and the beetles inside buzzed a little before settling. "I know. I haven't used you in a while. But maybe we can find you something new to eat here soon," he told them before making his way out of his room. Caduceus paused in the main room of the house and looked over at the tea cabinet. He picked up his teacup from where he'd put it on the table and rinsed it out quickly at the basin in the kitchen. The sun really brought out the pink flowers and green vines that wrapped around the otherwise white porcelain. He hummed a little and put it on the shelf with the other seven cups. He would be back just like the others would be.


End file.
